


Get someone else to lasso you the moon

by Sumsarum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Air Guitars, Angst, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Rock and Roll, Self-Harm, Stiles is Pushed Out of the Pack, Swearing, Triggers, closed off stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2653943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumsarum/pseuds/Sumsarum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is dealing with being thrown out of the pack by not dealing with it at all. Then he makes a decision that'll help him deal in the long run. When he finally has dealt with it, what will the pack do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first fic :D There's going to be huge gaps between posting, because... life. but I am very interested in how you find my "style of writing" because I have had a hard time finding fics written in a style I like, so i'm trying write how i would want a fic to be written. So, I'd be really appreciative of some feedback, both good and bad :D I will not change my style of writing, but if aren't anyone who like, I want write anymore, but if there are some, i will strongly consider to continue writing :)  
> Tags will be updated with each chapter

You know when people say it felt like everything slowed down and almost came to a complete stop around them? Let us be honest. That is not what it feels like. Everything is going, as fast as always. The only difference is that the blood is drumming so hard in your ears that you cannot hear a thing, and your brain is going so fast, trying to complete all your thoughts. However, there are so many of them. All trying to be progressed at the same time. The world is now slow compared to your brain, but a second is a second. And the minute he uses just staring at Derek is still a minute.

Stiles’ face is blank. Like there is nothing underneath.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Derek asks, looking determent and uneasy at how utterly emotionless an expression Stiles’ face has changed to.

“Yes. You said that I’m not part of the pack.” Stiles says monotonously. “I’ll leave then. Just know that if I am out. I am completely out. I will not do your research for you. I will leave all I’ve found so far, in a box outside my house. Pick it up tomorrow morning before I wake up.”

Stiles watches Derek for one more second before turning to the rest of the pack. They have been sitting in silence for the last minutes. “See you all Monday” he says before turning to walk out of the loft.

Derek raises himself from the desk chair. “Actually…”

 

VwV

 

Stiles is on his way home. The streets are not surprisingly empty. The clock on the dashboard tells him it's 02:44AM in bright orange light. 

He can feel the emotions boiling up inside of him, so he pulls into the side.

 _"How does he dare kick me out! Fucking shithead! Who the fuck does he think is! Fuck! I just hope the rest won't listen to him. I can't make it without them. Plus, he can't decide who they speak with!... What if he can? What if they don't speak to me. Fuck! I can't make new friends! I only became friends with the rest because Scott was there. Fucking spastic social retard! Shit. How can you be so fucking insecure. Man the fuck up!"_ He thinks.

Stiles' breath is hitched. He leans for the glove box. His trembling hand not able to find anything. Finally he finds his wallet. Sitting properly back in his seat, he unfolds it. His fingers guiding a little envelope out from behind his student card. He throws the wallet into the passenger seat before, without any ounce of elegance, he gets the razor blade out of the envelope. He holds it in his fingers. Flipping it around a bit. He puts one fingers on each of the sharp edges.  _"When I'm in control it doesn't hurt me. That must be the perfect metaphor for something. Don't know what, but something."_

He clumsily pulls off his hoodie, and roll up the left sleeve of his t-shirt. Only if one was to look closely would they notice the few faded white lines. Most weren't visible. Stiles don't like to cut deep. He has got enough scars as it was. He don't want to just pile more. Though sometimes he would have liked people to be able to see how much he was hurting.  _  
_

He brought out his lighter, lit it, and started to slowly disinfect one of the sharp edges.

_"I'll let go one more night. Let myself get controlled one last time. I think it's understandable. I didn't just lose my connection to the super natural. I just lost all of my friends at the word of one Derek fucking Hale. I'm going to do this one last time, and you're going out the car's window!"_

He waves the blade in the air till it has cooled down. He places the edge on the skin and begins to pull. It is over in no time. He leans back into the seated, his breath normalizing. He takes a deep inhale. Then he exhales. He opens his eyes, realising they had been closed. He looks down at his seeing, a single drop of blood, slowly making its way down his upper arm. He takes a Kleenex and dries it off, before finding a bandaid in the glove box. His hands makes a smooth movement opening it and putting it on. Not a single trace of trembling. He rolls down the window, takes the razor blade and looks at it. "Thanks you for this time. You're free to go!" before he trows it out of the window into the road. He rolls up the window and drive off home. 


	2. Chapter 2: The box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this during this days hangover, after 18 hours of drinking xD I would have wanted it to be longer, but I have cut som big parts out, because they didn't relavent to the story, and didn't really anything useful :p they won't be missed...
> 
> when done, you better give me some feedback :D

His arm is sleeping, pricking. He has to turn to the other side. _“Fuck. That is going to take a fuck-ton load of effort. 3… 2… 1… 0.5… 0.25… 0.125… 0. … What the fuck comes after 0.125? Fuck, it is too early for this shit!”_ He rolls over on his back, takes a breath, and then proceeds to continue the movement, lifting his upper body just the slightest, for then to fall down on his other side.

“OWCH!!! FUCK MAN!!!” He feels a quick burning sting flowing from his upper arm, up his neck to his ear, and down to his to his fingers tips. He sits up in a flash, fully awake and alert. He looks down at his arm. The Band-Aid is clearly gone. The cut hasn’t reopened, but the skin around it is clearly red; irritated. _“I need a new bed that isn’t hard as rock_ …” He contemplates going back to sleep. It probably wont help. I he is too awake now. He leaves his bed only wearing his boxers.

He sits down in computer chair leaning forward staring at the floor. _“Fuck. Fuck, what the fuck do I do now?”_ he can feel his heartbeat picking up speed; the air like syrup; feeling hot; sweat starting to creep out. He’s struggling to breathe, to live. He is trembling.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck” he breathes.

He grabs his water bottle, ever since he was little and was battling panic attacks he always has a water bottle with him everywhere just in case, he takes a deep breath in and downs half the bottle of water. Air rushes down his throat to his lungs as soon as removes the bottle. He can breathe.  He grab his morning pills and down the rest of the bottle, before taking one more breath and stands up to go take a piss.

Entering his room again, he pulls out some sweats and checks his phone.

“Hey son, I won’t be home until late in the evening 21-22PM maybe. Enjoy your Sunday.”

“Let’s Rock’N’Roll this BITCH!!!” Plugging his phone in to his mini-stereo, Shut Me Up by Mindless Self Indulgences blasts out the speakers. An air guitar is quickly in his hands

_“The bass, the rock_  
The mic, the treble  
I like my coffee black  
Just like my metal  
  
The bass, the rock  
The mic, the treble  
I like my coffee black  
Just like my metal”

He is rocking his air guitar like a fucking god even though he has never been taught; he is epical!

His head banging is phenomenal! One of the unknown wonders of the world!

_“I can't wait for you to shut me up_  
And make me hip like bad ass  
I can't wait for you to shut me up  
Shut it up  
  
I can't wait for you to shut me up  
And make me hip like bad ass  
I can't wait for you to shut me up  
Shut it up”

He really should become the front singer of a band.

Then he realized why he wouldn’t fit the job. After jumping around on the floor and his bed, swing his head around like crazy, he fell. He crashes on his stomach just beside his bed, with his faces flying by the nightstand by mere centimeters. His hands just manages to break the worst of the fall. He lies still for a moment.

Collecting his catching his breath when he comes to look under his bed. There is nothing. There is nothing! In a split second, he remembers. He jumps up and runs to the window. There is nothing at the curb. It is gone. The box is gone. The box with all his supernatural stuff is gone. It has been collected. It has been removed. His supernatural connection is now gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The number Stiles is rocking out to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0AX81gv5aM
> 
> now... gimme all dem comments :D :D Good or bad I want to hear it :3

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any and all mistakes, English is unfortunately not my first language. Give me dat feedback :D  
> Btw there's not going to be anymore selfharm!!


End file.
